Hell of a Pirate
by muckfuffins
Summary: Captain Swan AU: Emma is a pirate in search of a powerful vessel - one that is rumoured to have the ability to traverse through realms.
1. Hell Of A Pirate

**A/N:** Let's just suppose that the circumstances of the curse changed, and this is a COMPLETE AU. Another ficlet for the CS Saturday prompt, which was Pirate!Emma this week! I had a lot of fun writing this one. Perhaaaaaps an update in the far future? We shall see ;) While I'm here, I'm going to plug Fortune Favours the Brave and let you know that you can look forward to the next chapter on Monday! :)

* * *

The night was stormy and cold when she walked into One Eyed Jack's, her hair tousled beneath the brim of her hat; her boots clicked loudly across the floor as she strode in, her head raised high like she owned the place.

Killian Jones sat himself near the door with a few of his crewmates, swirling a cup of rum in his hand. He watched her – the way her hips moved when she walked was hypnotizing – as the woman made her way to the bar alone.

She wore a white blouse underneath a deep crimson silk corset; there were scarves tied around her waist – red and white in colour – and a pair of black leather pants with matching lace-up boots. A pistol holster was belted snugly to her thigh. A large black hat complimented with an even larger feather completed the ensemble. Her golden curls fell over her shoulders, and she brushed them away as she careened over the counter, catching the bartender's attention immediately.

"I'll have the usual, Jim," she smiled, tapping her knuckles against the wooden countertop.

A regular – how did Killian never cross her path?

When the man slid the cup to her, she thanked him merrily and took a table only a few away from Killian's. His crewmates stopped their bantering and chatter to see what he focused so intently on – they understood at once.

"Do you know her captain?" one of them asked, following Killian's gaze. They all paused to look at her while she brought the mug up to her red lips, sipping quietly.

Killian shook his head. "Mm, no. Wish I did." He felt a tightening in his lower stomach when she pulled her pistol from its holster – she began taking it apart, wiping down the pieces several times with a handkerchief. Her fingers worked at it delicately, twisting it apart and laying them across the table. _Oh gods_.

There was not a single shake of hesitation. Killian got to his feet and navigated the chairs to her, and he pulled one up to take a seat. He felt slighted when she didn't glance up at him, all of her attention directed at her gun.

"Beautiful piece," he rang out. He swallowed past the growing lump in his throat.

"Thanks," the pirate said flatly, still brushing. The only source of light in the tavern came from small lanterns on each of the tables, and it illuminated her face – Killian could see he creases in her brow grow darker and deeper, a frown widening across her face.

He drummed his fingers on the table as words caught on his tongue. "Don't reckon it's a tad cold out for a drink?" _What kind of a bloody question is that?_

At this, she raised her gaze. She had striking green-blue eyes, and when they met Killian's, for a fleeting moment, he was sailing again over the deep blue waters. "Is that not the point of coming to a place like this?" She sounded bored with him. "To warm up after a cold day at sea?"

"Touché," Killian breathed. _A challenging one, she is_. Killian Jones always loved a challenge.

She paused the scrubbing and carefully placed the piece down in front of her before crossing her arms, propping herself on her elbows. "Who are you and what do you want?"

Killian waggled a teasing finger at her. "To the point – I like women like you." He leaned over until he was several inches from her unflinching face, and he lowered his voice to an almost-whisper, as if it was some kind of secret. "Killian Jones," he told her with a smile. "Though, most have come to calling me by my more colourful moniker…" Killian showed her the metal attachment – his hook – shimmering in the dim yellow light. "Hook."

A snort escaped her and there was a failed attempt at stifling a smirk. "Cute." She lifted her hat from her face, revealing the undeniable beauty that Killian sought. "I don't suppose you're going to ask for my name?"

"Well, that is certainly customary, love," he jeered.

"Why would I tell you, even if you did ask?"

Killian inhaled a deep sigh and rummaged through his pockets. Out of them, he pulled several gold coins and whistled to the bartender. "Oi, Jim!" he called out, turning several heads. "The next drink for this lass is on me!" He mirrored Jim's nod and turned back to her, pleased. "We're going to be here a while, and I told you mine."

She bit on her lower lip and removed the hat from her head, revealing the rest of her face and hair in the warm light. Killian admired her, his eyes scanning every bit of her face – her eyes like the ocean, the way her hair fell on the sides of her face, her lips a deep red – he could see something else there, something familiar. The side of her mouth twitched into a smile as she reached for her cup and sipped from it, her stare locked on his own.

"Swan," she said finally, whirling the drink in her hand. "Emma Swan."

"Lovely name." Killian motioned to her hat perched upon her knee. "You captain a ship?" _Only captains had hats such as those_. Killian was never fond of them.

Swan shrugged and gulped down the remainder of her drink. "Of sorts," she responded mysteriously. Her speech was low and soft. "I'll have that drink now."

It was brought over to her quickly – straight whiskey – and Killian tossed the bartender his payment. He watched her savour the burn down her throat over the rim of his own cup. She was different, this one. There was something about her that pulled Killian in and held him there. This Swan felt dangerous, but a little adventure never hurt. "What brings you to this port of harbor, love?" he asked, curiosity brimming in his voice. This part of the realm had few pirates, small docks – seemed strange that there would be many other _regulars_ here. _He_ certainly had his reasons, but Killian was quite positive that hers were not in any way similar.

Swan's eyes narrowed. Her fingers were working the pistol again, twisting it back together. "I'm searching for something," she began. "I need to find a way to another realm – another land." _Was this a call for assistance_? Suddenly, he wrinkles from her frown surfaced again, and she looked sad – sorrowful. "I need to find someone."

It was Killian's turn to study her warily. His ship was a marvel, aye, but she was also enchanted – could travel through realms granted the proper opportunity presented itself; that opportunity was _on his ship_. Though, Killian was _also_ searching for someone in another realm, and after being left behind, he was in no more a forgiving mood. Her name left a sour taste at the back of his tongue and he glowered. "I'm searching for another realm as well." The words slipped from his grasp like liquid, and he felt the pit of his stomach drop. He saw her look at him through hopeful eyes, and he shifted in his seat. _Bloody hell, Killian_.

"Do you know how to travel between worlds?" Swan asked. She transferred her weight onto her elbows again and angled in. "I've been to this land and that but I've found no means to get myself elsewhere – a land _without magic_."

Killian's chest fluttered. "What is this world you seek so desperately, my dear?" He sipped his rum in an endeavor to hide his knowing simper. She wanted all the help she could get – Killian could tell.

She didn't waver. "Storybrooke." The name rang beautifully in Killian's head, and his grin broadened, to which she pricked an eyebrow up at him in surprise. "You know this place?"

Perhaps another on his side wasn't such a bad idea; they both had similar end goals, and he could use more hands on his deck. "Would that I did, love…" Still, Killian had to be careful. "Why should I help you?"

He could see the fire in her eyes flickering lustrously in the dreariness of the tavern. "I don't know what you want in Storybrooke, but at the end of the day…" Swan was inching closer now. "You and I both want the _same thing_."

Killian could smell her whiskey-stained breath and it burned hot against his lips. He inhaled sharply and brought his apprehension up to meet hers again. "Well, that's an offer I simply cannot refuse, lass," he uttered. "Shall we take this somewhere more…" He paused, and treasured the smirk that crept up Swan's face. "_Private_?"

Her brow lurched approvingly. "Aye, captain. Let's."

As they crossed to the door, Killian noticed his crewmates had abandoned the building – most likely returned to the ship after they had emptied their mugs. He gave the bartender a quick salute as they departed; the door closed behind them with a jingle as the little bell knocked against it.

Swan led him down the dark path, her hair billowing behind her as he followed. She was headed for the docks, it seemed, and Killian speculated to himself of what her vessel might look like – _surely_ something smaller than his; the Jolly Roger was one of the most spectacular ships to ever sail the high seas.

They arrived in silence at the docks; the only harmony was the low croaking of the galleys rocking gently atop the water, the waves crashing into them on this windy night. The moonlight reflected off of the ripples in the water, granting them a faint light.

Killian hovered in his spot on the pier. His ship was the only ship anchored at the port, empty and eerie in the night. He was apprehensive of her as she stopped and spun around on her heel. "Where's your ship, _captain_?" he demanded firmly.

Swan readjusted her hat and paced closer to him, each of her steps ringing louder and louder in his head. His heart thumped wildly in his chest while he backed away from her, and he flattened himself against a column. Killian's sharp breaths lingered in a mist, vanishing into the cool evening air.

She was against him now, and he had nowhere to escape – a part of him hadn't felt it was necessary as her leg wrapped around his ankle, binding him in place. Swan's own breath mingled with his, the smell of rum and whiskey mixing into a tantalizing aroma. Her breath was hot as it pierced his stinging jaw. She rested her hand on his shoulder and brought herself face-to-face with him, cocking her head to one side so that she could brush her lips against his. The feather-light touch sent tingles up the back of Killian's neck.

"_You're_ the captain of the Jolly Roger…" She was so close that Killian could almost taste the alcohol on her tongue. "I've heard marvelous tales of her – she's enchanted, able to travel seamlessly through worlds." Swan ran a strong finger down his exposed chest. "I've heard… tales… of you, lad."

Killian smiled against her lips. "My reputation precedes me then, love," he taunted, maintaining a mellow exterior. How badly his fingers longed to slink through her curls made him tremble under her weight.

It was her who brought their lips together in a tender kiss. Her mouth was wet and her breathing ragged with anticipation. "Aye, it does." Here was another – quicker but hungrier than the last. "How do you propose we get to Storybrooke then, captain?"

Killian reached up and plucked the hat from her head, tossing it to the side. It flopped lazily on the dock, the feather swaying in the wind. "A once-petrified bean, love." He made to grab her mouth with his teeth, but she escaped before he could catch her. "We restore its magical properties, and we will soon be on our way to this curiously-named land."

"Sounds like a decent plan," she whispered sharply, and Killian lolled his head back, groaning in thirst.

His breath caught in his throat as she panted an aggressive kiss on his lips. Killian's hook grazed along the small of her back and she shoved herself closer to him, their bodies ravenous and eager to close any breach of contact between them. Killian felt her sinking further into him and he inhaled the air from her lungs as if it was his last breath.

Swan's hands found his wrists and gripped them tightly, pulling them down to his sides. Killian felt her grasp tighten, thinking nothing of it as she shoved his hands behind his back around the pillar. There was a click in his ear, and he could feel a cold metal pressing against his cheek.

When she pulled away, he saw that it was the barrel of her pistol jamming into his cold face.

"Well, you certainly know how to tie a knot," Killian hissed. He tried to wriggle his wrists free, but it only constricted them more, the rough fabric of her scarf scratching against his skin.

Swan tilted her head again, but this time, it sent a different shiver up his spine. She wore a devious and fearless grin on her glistening lips. "I also know how to shoot a gun," she cautioned. "Is it true your ship can sail without a crew?"

Killian only stared at her, and he could feel the rage bubbling in his chest.

That seemed to be the answer she was seeking. Swan lowered her gun and laughed breathlessly, and Killian's eyes squinted with cynicism. "Thank you, my dear captain." She hoisted her hat from the ground and flipped it back onto her head gracefully.

The last thing Killian saw before he was hit with darkness was the butt of her pistol as it collided with his temple.

* * *

"Captain?" The voice was muffled in his head. He could see the faint outlines of a face close to his, and he blinked his eyes into focus. "Captain?"

Killian moaned at the pounding in his brow as he crawled to his feet, wringing his wrists free of the scarf. "Where the _bloody hell_ is that woman?" he snarled, pushing his crewmates off of him after their attempt to help him up.

"The one you were with last night?"

Killian was seething. "Where in the bloody seven levels of hell were YOU lot last night?" Had they been on the ship, it would still be anchored safely in the harbor. Swan knew about the bean, about the enchantments. The Jolly Roger was the fastest vessel known, and no doubt she was long-gone now, in the hands of a thief.

"We – we were…" one of his crew stuttered nervously. "What happened?"

Killian's voice boomed. "Do you see my ship? Am I on it!?" He could feel his face growing hot with fury, and spit flew at their faces, but he was far from caring now. "She stole it, you dimwit!" His cries echoed violently off of the trees and the water. Killian paced to the end of the dock and strained his eyes for the silhouette, but all he could see was darkness – the stars glittering in the distance, teasing him.

_Bloody pirates_. "I will find you!" he bellowed at the sea. It responded with roars of its own. "And when I do, I will make you regret your decision." He whirled around and pushed his way through the crowd of men eyeing him. "Now let's go find her bloody ship."


	2. The Pearl

Killian shoved past his men and stomped off the dock, feeling the rocking against the waves under his feet. He stopped when he noticed that they weren't following and he spun around, still red in the face. "Are you lot coming or are you going to stand there looking like the ruddy fools you are?" He didn't have the time or the patience to put up with any of this – he needed a ship, and he needed it now. Preferably _her_ ship, so that he could blast it to pieces when he was finished with her. The last man who stole from Killian Jones was, after three-hundred years, still running from him, hiding in this cursed land called Storybrooke.

His crew followed him immediately, scrambling over themselves to catch up. Killian ignored them and turned back around, plodding back into the darkness of the trees. There had to be another port elsewhere – a place for her to hide her ship from the eyes of visitors to the tavern. It was conveniently veiled within the forest, tall pines and oaks surrounding it on all sides. Instead of going back, he passed it, noting the drunken pirates exiting the wooden cabin-like building and shouting slurred howls at them. He ignored them – his anger had hit its boiling point now, so much that their hollers didn't faze him in the slightest.

When he strained his ears past the cracking of the twigs and dried leaves under his and the crew's feet, he could hear crashing waves beckoning him. He knew that sound when he heard it. "Do you hear that, lads?" he whispered with a smile. He bit on his bottom lip, the adrenaline pumping aggressively through his veins.

"Water," one of them answered, and they too strained their ears to listen.

Without a second thought, Killian pursued the melody of the wind dancing with the water, his crew of men behind them. He traipsed through the wood, his feet carrying him faster and faster as the sounds grew louder. Killian could smell the salt of the ocean now, and he licked his lips, tasting it on the tip of his tongue. They journeyed for a while, quiet, so that Killian could focus his attention on what he was hearing. When they finally found their way out of the trees, he was hit with a burst of cool ocean air, sprays of water hitting his warm face, and he blinked against it. When he refocused his vision, what he saw left him breathless. He had found exactly what it was he was looking for.

She was massive – more than anything Killian had ever seen in his life, with her large black sails folded up and tall, dark wooden masts. She was docked alone, her anchor dipped into the water from her side. The creaking in her galleys was loud against the silence of the sea, rocking gently with the wind. All of their mouths fell open and Killian saw his breath in the brisk night air, but he didn't feel cold. His heart was pumping and all of the blood rushed to his head. "I think we found just what we were looking for, lads," he laughed lightly.

_The Black Pearl_. The ship that once belonged to a certain notorious pirate – it was just like him to have it stolen, but by a woman? That was a new story for telling.

He beckoned his crew onto the dock and Killian hitched his breath in his throat at the sight. There was no crew on her, so he saw this as an invitation to climb aboard. When he stepped on, he glanced around at the darkened floors and up at the folded sails. There was an angel on the front, her arms crossed serenely in front of her chest – ironic that she was now pirated by a mutinous wench, Killian thought. It was the Captain's quarters he was searching for, though, which he assumed was the door behind the helm. Any sign that this might be Swan's ship. He strode to it, his fingers running over the dusty exterior of the ship and he opened the door, the creaking loud.

It reminded him of his own cabin – dark and dimly lit; a lantern sitting on a bedside table next to a large feather bed, pillows piled high at the head of it. She had good taste for a pirate. On the floor next to her bed was a fur rug – a bear or wolf of some sorts. When he peered into her closet, he knew immediately that this was indeed her ship. The clothes inside were all fit for a female – corsets, high lace-up boots like the ones he saw her wearing, scarves in an array of shades. He grinned to himself and closed the wardrobe door. This was suitable for now, despite the lack of clothing for him and his crew.

_No_, he was going to find her, if it was the last thing he did. Rumplestiltskin could wait – he needed his ship back. There was no time to waste.

When he exited her quarters, he spotted his crew examining the ship and its many features, including the large black wheel. "Weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen!" he shouted from the wheel. His fingers caressed it as they wrapped around. Killian had never captained a ship quite like this before – none of its size – but there was a first for everything. He watched as his crew immediately set to work, some bringing the anchor back up from the water, covered in dirty seaweed. The sails fell open and caught the wind, and Killian felt the rocking of the ship as it urged itself to move. "Harden up and get ready to set sail, mates!" His fingers coiled around the wheel, his hook clutching another notch, and he spun it. "We've got rough seas ahead!"

The ship lurched under him and the wind tickled his face as they started to move. How long Killian had waited to hear the sound of the ship against the water as it carried the massive vessel across it, the sails billowing loudly above his head as he steered her. They needed to somehow get around the island to where his ship was once docked. Thankfully, the wind was in his favour tonight; getting around the islands wouldn't be a problem for them.

The trees passed them quickly as they gained momentum, the wind pushing them to where they needed to go. Killian stood at the wheel, watching his men work on the deck, as he steered them to Swan's defeat. There was not going to be another chance for her pistol to meet his head. If she relied on a gun, she wouldn't he so good with a sword, he wagered – not like he was. He'd begun to wonder how she had gotten into the life of pirating in the first place. A beautiful woman like her didn't belong to the life of pillaging and plundering – life at sea was not made for women like her. He had to admit, though: she was bloody good at it.

"How are you planning on finding her, Captain?" a crew member asked when they'd found course. He had stepped up to Killian's place and was whispering in his ear.

"Are you questioning my ability to locate my own ship?" Killian snapped, removing his hand from the wheel to face him. Pete was a tall man, but not built, with very little meat on his bones.

"Of course not, Captain!" Pete cried out, and Killian could sense the offended tone at his sudden rudeness. "I'm not saying anything of the sorts. It's just that… you _really_ don't know where it is she went."

Killian tapped his fingers carefully on the wheel, mulling over the thought. He _was_ right – all he knew was that she was headed west from the other end of the island, and he needed to steer in that general direction. "Take her for a moment," he said finally, and he pointed to the ship's wheel. "I'm going to do some investigating. See if there are any signs of where she might be headed; clues that she may have left behind."

"With _your_ ship," Pete said, and he snickered, taking hold. The dark scowl that Killian shot Pete silenced him at once and he opened the door again into the Captain's quarters without another word. Killian didn't need _reminding_ that his ship had in fact been stolen, and that was a bad move on the lad's part. Nevertheless, Killian brushed past it and went to searching through her cabin for a map, a picture, anything that might lead him to her… and that Swan girl.

He rummaged through her wardrobe, pushing each article of clothing to the side for a sign of something. It was all clothes and boots and scarves in there, nothing that may come of use to him. He slammed the wardrobe door shut in a fury and continued his search through the room. He opened the drawers to her night table, but they were empty. Anything that was in there, she must have taken with her, or left nothing at all. Underneath her bed was clean, so there was no sense in looking there. She kept the room rather immaculate, Killian noted to himself. _We could have been something, Swan_. _We could have made quite the team_. He wasn't lying when he thought so. She was a beautiful woman who clearly had her wits about her, and strength to boot. To best Killian Jones was admirable, but never a clever idea. He could count the number of people who had done that on one hand – he would have found that amusing before, but no longer. It was his turn to find Swan and give her a taste of her own bitter medicine. If she wasn't going to surrender to him, he was going to make her. No one betrayed him like that, and when they did… Killian made them pay.

He continued his search, looking on top of the shelves and below tables. She had a bowl of delicious looking fruits sitting on the square table at the center of the room, and it reminded Killian very much of his own. He went back to the wardrobe again, but this time, he spotted a treasure box sitting on the floor next to it. Perhaps he would find something of value in there; if he knew anything about pirates, it was that all riches were kept in the chests. When he tried to click it open, it was locked, not at all to his surprise. _No matter_, he grinned to himself. With one strong swipe with his hook, the metal lock fell off and landed with a soft clang on the planked floor. He lifted the lid and inside was jewels of many colours, gold and coins and treasures from around the world. It was no longer a question of how she got into the life of pirating, but _how long ago_.

Killian ransacked the chest, pocketing jewels and coins that caught his eye, leaving no stone unturned within. When he reached the bottom, he found an item that _could _help. He picked it up, the chain dangling through his fingers as he turned it over in his hand. It was a compass, and the needle was spinning in every which direction – immediately, Killian knew what this was. This was The Black Pearl, and there was only _one_ explanation for what this object was. So the legends _were_ true. He clasped his fingers shut around it, holding it protectively in his hand as he laughed to himself. "Don't think you can run for much longer, my dear Swan." He exited the room, not paying much mind to the treasures scattered about the floor. First the ship is stolen, and now the compass? Who was she?

When he came back out onto deck, Pete turned around and smiled at him. "Did you find what you were looking for, Captain?"

Killian rolled his eyes and turned to his crewmate. "A compass." _Are you so bloody dense that you must ask questions whenever the opportunity presents itself?_ "What does it look like to you?"

"You know she went west, though. How is this going to help you any further than that?"

Killian spun the wheel again as they continued around the island, the wind in the sails pushing them further. Soon, they would be out on open sea, and well on their way to finding and taking back what was his. He didn't care much for The Black Pearl, as large as it was. It was far too big to sail as quickly as the Roger could. His ship was smaller, but there was far less wind resistance. "Have you heard not of the tales of this compass, Pete?" Pete responded with a shake of his head, and Killian continued, proud of the knowledge he held. "Legend says that this points you to the thing you desire most."

Pete smiled a toothless smile, and Killian cringed at the brown teeth that still remained in his mouth, the urge to punch them out rising. "Aye, a treasure indeed." He left Killian at the helm and started back down the stairs to assist the rest of the crew, who were only beginning to grow accustomed to the ship's set up.

As they rounded the island again, it was finally time to break out into the open seas. In front of them stretched the vast ocean, beckoning and calling to him. He was finally at home again on the waters, the waves rocking the boat gently. In the other direction, Killian spotted the first remnants of a sunrise. He hadn't known how long he'd spent searching for Swan's ship, and it crossed his mind that him and his men hadn't gotten sleep the night before, but it made no matter now. The invigorating feeling of being back at sea was enough to keep his eyes open – open just long enough to see the Swan descend. The adrenaline rushing through him, he glanced down at the compass again, and noticed the needle spinning, back and forth and pointing in all directions.

This _was_ supposed to point to the one thing the holder thirsted for the most, and Killian was sure he knew what it was – his ship. He gave the compass a good shake to put it back on its steady axis, but it spun more. Perhaps it was just attempting to decipher the sudden change in the wind, or to gaze through the many thoughts and emotions coursing through him. Yes, that was definitely it.

"Captain!" called out one of his crew, catching Killian's attention with a wave of his arms. "Look ahead. Is that a storm I see?"

Killian glanced up from the compass and squinted. The little bit of sun that was peeking out allowed for a very subtle view of the bundle of clouds far west in the distance. Perhaps Swan was sailing through that very storm right now. If she didn't know how to steer a ship through a storm, she would not be hearing the end of it from Killian. If one piece was missing from his ship, she was more than done for. He groaned low in his throat and nodded. "That it is." He wondered how this vessel would traverse through a storm, with the waves rocking it high and low and throwing it side to side. His men were strong, but was The Black Pearl? He supposed they would soon find out.

There was no doubt that the storm would approach quickly. His men were looking up at him for a command, but for the moment, there were none to give. He stared off at the black clouds and slid the compass into his pocket for now. "Aye, there is a certain storm brewing, lads," he said calmly. "Best batten down the hatches soon enough – we're in for a bumpy ride."


	3. The Roger

The Captain stared back at her, and she saw his teeth grinding together in rage behind tightly sealed lips. Lowering her gun to her side, she allowed a breathless laugh to escape, echoing in the silence. "Thank you, my dear Captain." Emma bent to lift her hat from the ground and she threw it back upon her head. Her pistol met his temple with a loud metal _thunk_, and she grinned to herself as she watched the pirate fall into a heavy pile on the dock, his marvelous coat rippling at his knees. "Maybe next time you'll learn your lesson to trust no one."

Emma turned to the sea, and the air caught in her throat – there she was… the Jolly Roger – fastest known vessel in all the realms, and made up of enchanted wood. The ship was a tad smaller than she imagined it would be, but it made no matter, as long as it took her to where she needed to go.

She paced down the docks, studying the outside of the ship. The way she curved around the sides, and how tall the masts towered above her. When she boarded the ship with boots clacking loudly against the wood, she ran her fingers delicately along the rails, splinters of wood catching on her skin, but Emma didn't mind. It looked much bigger inside than it did from below, and she was impressed. He had kept decent care of his ship – perhaps more than she did, although it was never really _hers_…

She gave a loud whistle and within mere seconds, she heard rustling and fumbling in the bushes. Out from the shrubs stumbled her crew of men and women, combing the leaves and twigs from their hair and tripping over one another. "Oye, watch your step else I'll gut you like a fish," one woman said as another slipped on her boots. Emma rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the ship, blatantly ignoring their bickering.

She admired the fine woodwork of the ship – the blue and yellow stripes along the sides, the maple floors, and the helm was made of a magnificent polished walnut, dark in comparison to the rest of the vessel. It was chipped away in a few places, but there was a certain beauty to the wear of the wood. She wrapped her delicate fingers around the wheel and gave it a slight turn, and the rudder below croaked loudly. Yes, this would be perfect. There was a hatch in the floor of the ship which she only assumed lead down to the decks below, and to the quarters – preferably the Captain's quarters… she would venture there soon.

"Weigh anchor, hoist the mizzen!" she bellowed over the rocking of the waves. The crew set to work, and Emma took in a deep sigh of approval as the white sails flew open. She listened to the clinking of metal as the others lifted the anchor from the water and there was a slight lurch under them as the ship stirred, persistent and longing for the open sea. It was about time she saw just how much the Jolly Roger fulfilled its prominence, and she hoped that it would not disappoint her.

There was a sudden jerk as the sails caught the bursts of wind passing over them, and the vessel rocked slowly over the waves. Emma balanced herself against the ship's wheel and allowed it to recover its stability again before she stood upright. It moved forward now with relative ease, and sooner than later, they were departing from the shore, the unconscious pirate only an outline of a shadow with none of his men in sight to assist him. She snorted to herself and turned her attention elsewhere; particularly to the west where a vast stretch of blue awaited them. The moon and the stars were still in the sky, their lights reflecting off of the ripples in the water.

As they ventured further, the lanterns on the dock turned into tiny specks of glittering light, and the flames danced and waved goodbye before they quickly disappeared completely. Emma was surprised of how swiftly this ship sailed – the wind resistance was next to nothing compared to the Pearl, and she was certain there was a bit of the enchantment at work tonight, encouraging her to move faster and faster. For one of the fastest in all the lands, the Jolly Roger was impressive. He could have done better, gone bigger, but this suited her needs for now.

When they had reached open water, Emma was free to roam the ship while one of her men took the helm in her place. She took the steps down onto the main deck where the rest of her crew was sitting, some others admiring the ship as well; others were resting on piles of sacks. Why not use the crew's quarters instead of napping out here? She cocked a brow when she reached the door in the floor and she bent and lifted it. It creaked loudly as she threw it over, and below it was a set of stairs leading further down. Emma followed them and wound up at the end of a long hallway, sets of doors on either side. When she opened one, inside was a bunk bed, a pair of dressers and some clothes laying out neatly atop their beds – it was the same for several of the other rooms. Emma was specifically looking for the Captain's room, which according to her luck in the past, would be the very last door she would check.

Emma opened the door at the end of the hall slowly, unsure of what she would find inside. She was shocked to see an organized room, one that reminded Emma much of her own. There was the featherbed in the corner, piles and piles of pillow stacked at the head of it, and a thick fur throw at the foot. There was a barely-lit lantern in the center of the room on a square table bolted to the floor. Beside the lantern was a litter of maps, quills and bottles of ink. Perhaps one of those would become useful to her – she would have to check them. She turned the knob on the lantern and the flame grew, allowing more light into the room for Emma to examine closer.

She flopped herself down onto the bed and lay back onto the pillows. There were so many that she couldn't lie with her back straight; she may as well have been sitting. "How the hell does he sleep like this?" she muttered to no one, shifting left and right and onto her sides to find a position of comfort. Emma could feel herself sinking deeper into the feathered bed, and before she shut her eyes and drifted off completely, she forced herself back up, touching her feet against the ground.

Emma crossed the room to his stand-up wardrobe with its doors wide open, and she spotted several of his clothes hanging, and all of it still reminded her much of her own room. There were several leather coats that touched the floor, along with shirts, vests, and many pairs of leather pants. She yanked a jacket off of its hanger and studied it closely, twirling it this way and that to get a better look – it was lined with large silver buttons, and the collar was bigger than any of her own coats. Emma carried it to the mirror beside the wardrobe and threw it over her shoulders, tugging it closer to her. "Not a bad taste, Hook," she said, impressed. She spun around, looking at herself – of course, the coat was too big for her, and it slid off of her shoulders and went past her feet, but it was admittedly a nice piece of clothing.

With a careless toss, it flumped lazily to the floor and Emma moved across to the other side of the room, where she found a large chest, and it was locked shut. _Not a problem_, she smirked, and she reached into the satchel at her side and pulled out her picks. Emma was no amateur at this – she had done it so many times now that she could probably attempt it with her eyes shut. She got to her knees and began poking at the lock, listening for the clicks that directed her to unlocking it. There must have been some important items in here, to keep it closed tight at all times.

_Click_. Emma smiled widely to herself, laughing as she forced it open with a noisy creak. What she found inside was most unexpected to her. Crowns, jewels, pieces of cloths – items that she figured he had kept from previous conquests. All pirates kept souvenirs, and this man was certainly no exception. She plucked the items from the box and investigated them. A circlet that must have once belonged to a princess in some distant land, a necklace with a large blue sapphire in the middle… when Emma slowly reached the bottom, she discovered a neatly folded piece of parchment. When she opened it, there was a picture of a woman carefully sketched in charcoal. Her hair was long and wavy and dark, and she wore a simple white blouse under a dress, and she was smiling. Whoever she was, she must have been important for him to keep a photo of her stashed at the bottom of his chest – the one place people would never go.

Then she finally reached for what she had been searching for: the magical portal bean. It was blackened and petrified, dangling from a thick golden chain. Her eyes focused on it as she brought it closer, taking a harder look at it. Emma removed her hat and slid it over her curls, and she tucked it into her shirt for good measure. She would find a way to reawaken the magic of the bean, even if it meant making truces she wouldn't dare agree to otherwise – her thoughts immediately went to a certain black-haired, blue-eyed Captain who might still be lying unconscious on the piers. It was so terribly unlikely that all Emma could do was laugh off the idea. He was not going to trust her after leaving him stranded, _and_ stealing his ship, and why should he trust him? Emma didn't trust anyone, let alone a vengeful pirate.

She took a seat in one of the bolted down chairs, and she could feel the saying of the ship all around her – surely they were well on their way now, and Emma had enough faith in her crew that they would take her far off from the shore, distant enough that Hook couldn't find them. The maps that were strewn over the table were of different lands, and she flipped through them. The Enchanted Forest, a strange place named Westeros, Wonderland, and – Emma hitched her breath as her fingers traced over the title – Neverland. The air caught in her throat and she held it there, her heart racing faster in her chest. She placed the map down carefully, as if it would break if she was reckless. She stared at it, sitting idly on the table, afraid to pick it up again. _No_, she thought, _it's just a piece of paper_. Her lips twitched downward as she took it in her hands, piling it with the others.

Emma folded the maps in half, and then over again, and tucked them away in her satchel. She may not have much use for them now, but there may be a time when she wished she had taken them. Giving the table one last glance, she spotted something else that caught her eyes – it shone gold under the flickering light of the gas flame. When she picked it up and held it in her palm, the metal was cold against her warm skin. It was a compass – just an ordinary compass, as far as Emma could tell. She clutched her fingers around it and pocketed it. It would come in useful soon as well, she figured.

It was about time Emma returned to the main decks of the ship to take over the helm again, and to ensure that they weren't heading in the wrong direction. They ought to be far off at sea now, or at least far enough that the hooked pirate wouldn't catch them in time. She exited the room and climbed the stairs at the other end of the corridor and the wind hit her face the moment she stepped up.

"You find anything of use, captain?" one crew member asked, coming up beside her.

Emma reached down her shirt and pulled out the petrified bean, holding it up at the woman. "Aye," she nodded, pleased with herself. "The bean I was talking about earlier."

The girl's eyes widened and she reached out for it, grazing it lightly with her gloved fingers. "How are you going to bring it back?" she asked, and Emma could see the curiosity firing up in her eyes. "We can't use this as it is, can we?"

"We'll have to find some other way to get use of it," Emma said, dropping it back down to her chest. _If it is the last thing I do._ Nine years ago, Emma once had a life of her own, and nine years ago, all of that was taken from her. She was going to get home first, and then, she was going to find Henry. Before _he_ did. The mere thought of him raised goose bumps up and down her arms and she bit on the insides of her cheeks, trying to shake the thought from her head.

"Do you know how to do it?" The woman's voice brought Emma's attention back around, pushing her memories into the depths of her subconscious. _They can stay there_.

"I might have some ideas," she said quietly, not moving her eyes from the horizon. Right now, the bean was the last of her worries. In this land, nothing was impossible, and Emma knew that somehow, she would revive it again. She was much more concerned about the clouds forming in the distance, darker than the night. On the other side of them was the sun peeking out from beneath the horizon, a faint glow of orange and pink painting the clouds. There was a storm brewing to the west, and they were headed straight for it.

"Captain Swan!" a man called out to her as he lowered his spyglass. "You spot that storm up ahead?"

Of course she did. She stomped down the steps and took the lens from him, bringing it up to eye level. Emma peered through it at the blanket of clouds thickening on the skyline and sighed. She would have to sail a small ship like this through a storm for the first time – how well it would handle the rocking of the waves Emma would have to see for herself. If it could travel between realms with relative ease, then there should be no problem making it through the gale that they were quickly steering toward. _Or at least… she hoped_.

"We await your command, Captain," another said, and her crew stopped what they were doing and gathered around to listen to what she had to say.

Emma couldn't help the smile that adorned her lips then – she had spent the last nine years with this crew, and all of them had been as loyal as any family could have been, as little as she knew about what having a family _meant_. Five years ago, they had elected her as Captain, claiming that she had the best leadership skills and praised her sharp wit, and for five years, Emma sailed them over rough waters through the many lands of this realm. It wasn't long before she had explained to them her plans to find Storybrooke, and they had sworn to her that they would remain at her side. They weren't many, seven to be sure, but they were enough.

All that mattered right now was the distance between her and the abandoned captain, and the safe journey. She glanced over her shoulder at the horizon again, her eyes focusing momentarily on the velvet wall of clouds. It would certainly slow them down, but if it meant anything, it would certainly hinder Hook's travels as well. She wondered to herself, amused, about how their next meeting would go, if it ever were to happen again. There was no doubt in Emma's mind that he would be angry with her; he would want his ship back, and he would stop at nothing to achieve his _own_ ends. _That isn't going to happen, Hook_.

Her lips twitched into a subtle smirk. "Best furl the sails!" she ordered, and without a single question or objection, her crew set to work in preparation for what lay ahead. Even Emma wasn't confident that she knew what did lie ahead, but she would be ready for what the waters had planned for them. "This one's gonna be rough."


	4. The Calm Before the Storm

Just like Emma had earlier predicted, the storm rocked the Jolly Roger relentlessly, the waves sending up cold mists at their faces as they held on to whatever they could grab. Emma was at the helm, her fingers on the wheel, gripping it as tight as she possibly could. She squinted her eyes against the water as she tried to keep the wheel straight, nudging it this way and that as they tried to oppose one another. Emma battled the waves to the best of her abilities, and so far, she was doing much better than expected for her first night on a new ship. There was a flash of lightning and for a splitting second, she could see her crew through the walls of rain holding on to the nearest thing they could find to keep themselves aboard, followed by a thunderous boom. They were in the heart of the storm now, and there was no turning back. If they did, they ran the risk of being discovered by Hook, and that would only slow her down. No, they needed to keep on and make their way through, even if it took all night.

"We'll be out soon enough," Emma reassured her crew with loud shouts as she saw some of the fear settling on their face as another blast of light illuminated the ship for a moment. She had combatted many storms with this crew in the past, and this one was no different – they had seen worse, she recalled. Not much longer ago, before they reached this mysterious forest, they had crossed through one whose winds were so powerful that they had almost flipped their ship sideways. Had it not been for the skill of her crew, they would have all wound up dead men and women, lifeless at the bottom of the sea. Emma swayed, her knees buckling beneath her as the bottom of the ship rocked again, this time more vigorously.

The seas were unpredictable, and so Emma held on with rigid fingers. She had only heard tales from her crew of the erratic goddess that ruled the domain: Calypso. In another land, she had fallen in love with the notorious Davy Jones, and ordered the sailor to ferry souls to the beyond, only allowed to step foot on land once every ten years to be with her. Jones had returned to shore at last, after ten years of dutifully transporting the souls lost at sea, and his love was nowhere to be found. Upset by what was, in his eyes, a betrayal, he plotted to trap the goddess into the form of a mere human. After carving out his own heart and locking it away, he called for a meeting of the Brethren Court, a pirate council of sorts. They trapped her inside the form of a human for many years, and discovered that it was, in fact, Jones' plot. Feeling hoaxed, she unleashed her wrath upon the seas when the pirates released her from her shackles. To this day, some sailors and captains wonder if these storms are the tears of the powerful sea nymph, her cries loud and deafening as the thunder sends endless ripples across the waters.

_Those were only legends… but so was the Jolly Roger_.

Emma glanced out at the sky, wishing that the sun would push its way through the grey clouds looming over them. If she prayed to the gods and goddesses of the sea, would they listen? Would they grant her free passage over their waters or did she have to earn her way through? There was no use praying – they were not going to listen to her. For her entire life, even before becoming Captain, everything Emma had ever done, she had done herself. Now was not the time any god or mystical sea creature was going to jump to her aid simply because she shouted at the brewing storms. If there was anything that Emma needed, it was more wind and less rain, but with the walls of clouds she spotted in the distance, it seemed a hefty request to make. Instead, she resorted to giving the wheel a good spin, in hopes that it might steer them in another direction away from the crashes of lightning and the booming of thunder, and away from Hook, who would certainly be gaining on them by now.

They sailed a little while longer, Emma continuing to keep control of the ship until the waves stopped jolting the Jolly Roger about. It felt like almost an eternity to her – the throbbing of the muscles in her arm made it seem that way – before the rain was no longer hitting their cold faces and the taste of saltwater disappeared from the tip of her tongue. Emma took a deep breath and the cool, clean air filled her lungs. It was almost as if the skies could hear her thoughts – the clouds didn't break, but if she stared at them long enough, she could see them drifting away, breaks of blue between darkness. She could hear her crew below laughing with relief as they finally let go of what they held onto so dearly, each of them offering their cheers to their Captain.

Emma stepped down from the helm and passed through the crowd of men and women, all patting her on the back for another marvellous job. She crossed to the bow of the ship, eager to spot a black speck against the sunrise. She felt the coldness of metal against her chest and remembered the compass, and pulled it out delicately by its chain. They were still headed west, and a pleased smile adorned her lips. There was no sign of the other ship, no indication that they were even being followed or found, and the winds and rain had finally lifted, the only sound in Emma's ears now were the laughs f her crew and the gentle waves.

"We made it!" they were shouting, and one even came up from behind and wrapped her arms around Emma's shoulders. "Yet another storm beat, Captain."

Emma couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. "Thank you," she uttered under her breath. She wanted to keep her composure, especially at a time like this when, even as it passed, there was still the risk of another appearing. It didn't necessarily need to take the form of rain. She slipped the compass back into her shirt and felt it glide against her skin, sending chills through her – though, she wasn't entirely sure if they were because of the metal or something else entirely. The uneasiness in her stomach told her that it was perhaps hunger. They would soon be needing food in their stomachs, and she hoped that there would be ample supply somewhere on this ship.

Emma spun on her heel and faced the line of men and women staring back at her, once again awaiting her command. "Someone tend to the sails. The rest of you – find us some food!" she directed, and without any hesitation – all of them agreeing on the food – set to work. She paced back to the helm, the sounds of the unfurling sails above her head. Emma could finally feel her stomach telling her that it needed food; she had ignored it all this time and, after a glass of whiskey the previous night, the effects of an empty stomach were finally beginning to take over.

She didn't want to think about how many more storms she would have to get them through before they returned safely to Storybrooke. They needed to get through a portal, and quickly. Emma had several ideas – it involved a petrified bean that hung loosely around her neck beside the compass, and a lake that had dried up many years ago. Stories told that a prince had killed the siren, before parts of this land were cursed to ruins, and ever since her death, the lake had turned into a plot of dry sand, never to return to its previous state. This legendary lake was where she had turned their sails, and despite the doubts that had settled in the back of Emma's mind, she would find a way. She had been successful so far, and she was not about to let that all be for naught.

As satisfied as she felt, Emma knew that the storm wasn't over. There was another one coming, this one harsher and angrier than any she had encountered in her ten years of sailing as a Captain, or as crew. She didn't know when or from where, but the wrenching of her gut told her so; this one took the form of a certain pirate with eyes like the sea, who smelled of rum and spices, and had a hook for a hand.

xxxxx

Killian's hook scraped against the boards of the ship as he watched the distant storm, lightning crashing down upon the waters in a fury, followed by the crashing of thunder. They were close, but still a relatively safe distance from the violent pitching waves. The storm would only slow them, and he knew that, but if the Swan was smart enough, she would have sailed through it to avoid him. "Bloody hell, Swan," he cursed between breaths, and one of his men glanced over his shoulder at Killian.

"What is it, Captain?" he asked innocently.

Killian didn't bother to look back at him. Instead, he pushed past the man, his feet stomping louder than normal against the wooden deck. "We need to find my blasted ship," he snapped, and he wiped the droplets of sweat running down his brow. Since they had left the harbour, the adrenaline in Killian's blood pulsed through him in intense surges. His heart beat quicker with each rock of the ship, and his breathing grew hasty and coarse. His body ignored the fact that he hadn't eaten much the previous night, and Killian thought it best to not think of it.

He couldn't stop pacing the ship, and he allowed his feet to carry him back and forth without much deliberation. Killian had men on the lookout left and right and front to back, watching for any sign of a lone ship battling the gust. They had been sailing for an unknown measure of time; all he knew was morning was swiftly approaching – the sun was staining the sky a deep yellow and pink now as it tried to press its way over the edge of the world. It was a peaceful sight to behold; that he was sure of. It had felt like an eternity since he had seen a sunrise as vivid as this. Perhaps he owed thanks to the storms to his other side, where the sea gods were thrashing about in anger.

It was one of _those_ sunrises – the ones that left a sharp pang in his chest. One of those sunrises that looked much like the mornings with Milah. Those memories were so far away now that they felt like nothing more than dreams. Killian had always admired the way the waves of her hair moved about in the breeze, and her silhouette against the brightness of the sun. In those memories, she never turned to greet him – her face was always gazing out to the endless horizon, almost as if he had forgotten what she looked like. The shade of her eyes or the shape of her lips, or how the linen she wore felt as he grazed his fingers over it. He had long forgotten her laugh or the way her name fell so easily off of her lips when he appeared behind her unnoticed. There were many mornings they had spent sitting on the quarter deck of the ship watching the sun appear over the water, its reflection magnificent and taking over where darkness once stood.

There was one particular morning he recalled with ease, not long before she was killed. He had awoken on the wrong side of the bed – her side, but she was nowhere to be found. Killian had rubbed his eyes and blinked the bleariness of the morning out of them, taking a moment to study the room for a sign of Milah. He threw the covers off of himself and slid his feet lazily across the floor to the door, swinging it open as he reached it. As soon as he stepped out, the warmth hit his face in a burst of air. He smiled against it and stepped up to the main deck, looking for Milah. Killian found her standing against the rails, leaning out over the water, watching as the sun rose, the clouds looking like orange and yellow stained glass. In the memory, Killian always called out to her, and his fingers would outstretch to reach her, but she never looked, and never responded. No matter how many times he yelled her name or tried to grab her, she always grew further, as if his feet were not taking him anywhere, and she hadn't heard his voice.

_I just want to see your face one last time_… he would always try to tell her, but there was always nothing, and it was all thanks to the Crocodile.

Killian snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of a man's voice in his ear.

"Captain, are we not going to sail through the storm to catch this woman?" he asked, his voice shaky – he was aware that he had interrupted whatever muses were going through Killian's head, but he was almost thankful to the man for bringing his feet back to the ground. "We're sort of just… sitting idly here waiting for something to happen, and I'm not sure what that might be, Captain."

Killian yanked the tip of his hook from the wood of the ship and cleaned the slivers from it with his fingers. "Aye, we are waiting for something to happen," he said, his voice growing dark. "The storm may do the rest for us, lad. That is what we are waiting for." He glanced up at the sky above his head and noted the increasing brightness. "We will either wait for that Swan wench to sink to the depths of the ocean, or the winds will clear and offer us a better shot."

His crewmate knew immediately what Killian had meant by that, and he stepped back a pace, giving the Captain some room to breathe. "Don't you think that it's best we settle these matters calmly rather than resorting to the cannons? You'll end up blowing ho–"

"I am the Captain, I give the orders!" Killian spat, his patience suddenly worn thin. He stomped to the helm in a fit of rage, the blood in his veins bubbling and his face growing warm. He gave the order to his crew to hoist the sails and batten down the hatches – they were sailing through the storm. No man told Killian Jones what was _best_. Only Killian knew what was best, and in this moment, he had not a care in the world for what that was.

_I'm coming for you, Swan_. _And you, Crocodile_.

Perhaps it was the unexpected blast of anger that surged through him that prompted his sudden change of heart, but there was not a single second to waste. He was not going to lose his ship – the one last constant in his life – the only thing that mattered most to him, next to avenging Milah. Killian allowed the growing waves below to rock the ship closer to the storm, each sway doing so with more vigour than the last.

He reached his hand into the inside pocket of his coat in search of the compass he had discovered earlier, and found it tucked away beneath something else, cold and metallic and rusty. It dropped to the floor as he took the compass in his fingers, and the trinket fell open with tiny clinks that could barely be heard over the wind battering against the sails. The small music box started to play its melody, quiet and soft in an almost ominous way. He bit the insides of his lip and immediately bent to snatch it up, closing it shut tightly. He didn't want to look at it – he never wanted it, an yet, there was a daunting force that kept him from throwing it into the ocean, perhaps to be found by scavengers thousands of years from now. No, Killian kept this in the pocket of his coat at all times, for reasons unknown to him. He slid it back into his chest pocket, the tune still playing quietly in his own ears, never ending. Killian ignored it and flipped open the compass. The needle held itself at a steady west this time – his previous glances at it proved to be futile, with the needle spinning every which way, not quite knowing where it wanted to go.

They sailed for a while with Killian in silence, watching his men work as his heart thumped loudly in his ears. He had sailed through tempests before, some perhaps greater than this one, an yet he felt his stomach clenching and unclenching as if something was amiss, as if there was something waiting for him on the other side of those clouds. He spotted a flash of lightning in the distance, illuminating every inch of the sky he could see, followed by the crashing of thunder.

"Captain!" It was Pete, and he was running to him with an extended spyglass in his hands. "Captain, you might want to take a look at this."

"What is it?" Killian asked, and his stomach did several flips.

Pete said nothing, but motioned to the spyglass in his hand.

Killian raised it up to his eye and peered through it, squinting for a better focus on the skyline. "What is it? I don't see anything," he snapped, licking his lips in a bout of anxiety.

"Wait for it…" Pete uttered, and as he did, another spark lit up the sky for him, and that's when Killian saw it.

He breathed a laugh, not being able to stifle the grin that forced its way onto his lips. It was only for a moment, and it was gone in the blink of his eye, but he knew his ship when he saw it. Through the lens, she was still far enough that it was only the silhouette he saw, but that _was_ her rocking against the waves, fighting the winds that battered and bruised her. At least the ship was still in one piece. Killian lowered the lens and shoved it at Pete's chest, and he turned back to his wheel, giving it a good spin in her direction. This was it – he was finally going to get his ship back, and Swan was going to regret ever making the decision to take it from him. No one crossed Captain Hook and got away with it, not even a beautiful pirate with red lips and golden curls.

"This is it, lads!" Killian shouted louder than the roars of the sea. His voice was calm and steady, but the adrenaline took over him again, his heart pounding frantically in his chest. "Full speed ahead!"


End file.
